


Very Married

by airy_nothing



Category: Glee
Genre: Multi, Tumblr: klaineadvent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:49:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airy_nothing/pseuds/airy_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent 2014. Snippets from the lives of mid-40’s, married Klaine. Because, why not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If the Shoe Fits

**Author's Note:**

> "If I get married, I want to be very married." —Audrey Hepburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "ache"

"You’re going to wear  _what?_ " asks Kurt, peering over his reading glasses as he looks up from his tablet. "Did you actually utter the word ‘Speedo’ in this house." It’s not a question.

"It’s for a good cause," Blaine laughs. He’s on the loveseat lacing his running shoes, trying to ignore the dull ache in the bottom of his foot. He knows as soon as the tissue warms the pain will subside. At least for now. Half of running—actually,  _most_ —is managing pain. 

Blaine stands and saunters toward Kurt. “It’s the Santa  _Speedo_  Dash. It’s funny,” he adds, as if the explanation is necessary. He stops, hands on hips, giving the cat a chance to rub its shoulder against (and around) his calf before he leaves. Upstairs he hears footsteps, then the click of the bathroom door. 

“You’ll take the kids?” he asks, as Kurt turns back to his tablet.

“Of course,” Kurt says, angling his cheek for Blaine’s kiss so he can keep his eyes affixed to the screen.

Blaine leans forward, his lips tugging gently at the lobe of Kurt’s ear. 

“ _Oh. My. God,”_ Kurt says. Then he bursts into laughter.

When Blaine follows his husband’s gaze, he sees a line of shirtless, Speedoed men on the tablet’s screen, most donning Santa hats and gloves (and at least one dressed in nothing but a white, bearded “loin cloth”). “Well, so what?” he says. He’s seen it before.

But Kurt’s still cackling, tears streaming down his face. He can’t even speak as he points at one man. “This guy,” he finally snorts. “ _This_  guy.” 

It’s a man whose chest hair is shaved in the shape of a Christmas tree. 

“Very funny,” says Blaine. “You want me to dye it green like that, too?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

He leaves Kurt there, hunched over the breakfast table, as William, almost as tall as Blaine, walks in to ask his laughing father sleepily, “What’s going on?” As Blaine exits the house he hears William’s own guffaw. 

Like fathers, like son.

Blaine runs out into a frosty wind, and as he feels the first sting of pain in his foot he can’t help but giggle. He tries to steady his breath in the cold air, but every attempt to find a rhythm is met with a fresh peal of laughter. He’s pretty sure he looks like an idiot, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t care. 


	2. Pinky Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "balance"

There was a blood oath involved, if Kurt remembers correctly.

It was undertaken in earnest, with candles, and sealed with Blaine’s shrill “Ow!” at being pricked with the pin just before they rubbed their pinkies together in solidarity. 

They were never going to be  _those_  kind of parents.

That was the oath.

They had a list, even, of what they were promising (they’d had time, having married young but not pursuing family life until they hit 30). On the list: never taking a baby to a movie theatre. Or on a long flight. Or to a nice restaurant. And not being a mere shuttle service for the kid’s (or kids’—they didn’t even know, then) multiple activities. They wouldn’t be  _helicoptering_ , protecting their kids from every bump and scratch. 

Of course, that was before William—before they saw how much he enjoyed painting ( _How does he know how to mix colors like that?_ and  _He’d probably like a little class on decoupage!)_. And who could’ve predicted the way Audrey took to dance, and why  _wouldn’t_ she want to learn more than the basics of ballet? Or try out for  _The Nutcracker?_ The oath was also made well before the day Audrey slipped on a wet floor, not even three, and hit her head hard on the tub (How could they not want to prevent  _that_  from happening again?). And before certain  _scenes_ , too, that somehow couldn’t be avoided. Of Blaine carrying a screaming William unceremoniously, football-like, out of the store, a full grocery cart of food left in their wake. Of Kurt yanking the pacifier from Audrey’s mouth and launching it out the car window. 

Fast forward to now, where Kurt’s flipping pancakes while William teases the dog, a collie they’d lucked in to through a family friend. She sits on her haunches in the living room, a biscuit balanced on her snout. “Sit,” William draws out with an entire breath.  _“Sit …”_  He’s grinning with pleasure, clearly amused with himself—or by her incredible obedience.

Because this has been going on for ten minutes, at least.  

Audrey, meanwhile, pouts on the sofa and says, “Let her have it already! It’s not even  _funny._ She’ll sit there all day, so  _what?_ She’ll just end up peeing on the floor and then you’ll have to deal with  _Daddy.”_

 Kurt lifts a batch of fluffy pancakes from the griddle and tucks them under the foil that tops the platter, willing himself not to butt in. 

Not hovering—letting them solve their own problems if possible—was on the list.

But the dog—Bea—is whimpering now, either because she does in fact have to pee, or because she wants to eat. (Whether she hungers for the boring biscuit or Kurt’s pancakes is anyone’s guess. His money’s on the pancakes, because the scent of hot butter and maple is everywhere now.)

“She listens to me more than you.”

“You’re wrong—she just listens to whoever’s got the food.”

“No, you’re wrong. I’m the one who trained her.”

“No,  _you’re_  wrong. Dad’s the one who trained her.  _You_  watched. And held the box of dog treats.”

The last comment causes William to shove Audrey, just a little, which causes Kurt to bellow, “ENOUGH” as he slams the spatula on the countertop. The commotion startles Bea so much that she drops the biscuit, only to gobble it up greedily once she sees it sitting there in front of her on the floor.

Then there’s a gust of wind and the sound of the door opening, of a nylon jacket being removed and hung on its hook and the thud of running shoes being tossed off on the floor. 

Blaine enters the room, then, windburned from the cold, cheeks bright pink, and the memory of the oath suddenly blooms in Kurt’s mind: the way they’d sat, cross-legged, facing each other on the floor in front of the fire, the blood-smearing turning for a moment to curious blood  _sucking_. He smiles, remembering the feel of the plush rug on his back, as they lay together on their floor, planning their future together.

But the future is now. “You going to flip those, or are you going to stand there daydreaming about me?” Blaine asks, grinning. Then Blaine turns to the kids, and just by taking in the expression on their faces asks sternly, grin totally gone, “So what’s going on here?”

William, Audrey, and Bea all look at Kurt. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” they say, together (well, Kurt can  _see_  the guilt in Bea’s eyes). 

“Not you, Bea,” he says, and tosses a pancake her way. She’s quick to scarf it down.

Blaine raises an eyebrow at William. “‘Training’ Bea again, son?” he asks. William looks down at the floor, while Audrey nods vigorously.

“Let’s try to be nicer to the dog? And each other,” Kurt says, handing a plate of pancakes to Blaine with a kiss. “Put these on the table?” he asks. With their busy schedules, enjoying a fresh breakfast together is a rare treat they all look forward to. Kurt’s happy to get back to the  _enjoying_  part.

As Blaine walks to the table, the kids rush over. “Hold it,” he says, blocking their path with his hips, long enough to put the platter down. Kurt’s gathering cups and forks but pauses all the same. He’s wondering what his husband is up to. He sees a twinkle in his eye, which is  _always_  a sign.

“Now sit,” Blaine says, reaching for a pancake. The kids do as they’re told.

“Now  _stay_ ,” he says, before tearing two pieces off and balancing them on the kids’ noses.

“Dad!” grits Audrey through her teeth.

“Careful,” warns Blaine. “You don’t want to have to eat your breakfast off the floor.” He pulls the chair out for Kurt, who chuckles as he sits, and then takes his own place across the table. As Kurt relishes the first bite from his plate, he knows that he and Blaine are not  _those_  parents. But he also knows that  _those_  parents don’t really exist—not really. When it comes to kids, there are circumstances, and choices, and always, kisses goodnight. You do what you can. Oath or no oath.

“Can we eat now?” William asks,  _very_  carefully so as not to let the pancake slide from his nose.

Kurt pushes his chair back suddenly and runs from his seat. “No one drops _anything!”_ yells Kurt. “At least not until I get the camera.”


	3. Talk about the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "cloud"

“What kind of day is it today, Dad?” Kurt asks, taking off his coat and hanging it in the hall closet. He finds his father fully reclined in his chair, watching television. 

“Cloudy,” is all he says, still facing the TV.

Kurt nods, more to himself, then walks over to squeeze his dad’s shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it nudges his father to turn his head, at least, and make eye contact. Kurt studies his face, searching for clues that might tell the story of the last few days. “What would it be, now?” Kurt wonders aloud, softly. “Three years ago, today?”

His dad’s immediate “Yep” tells Kurt all he needs to know. Carole’s death wasn’t exactly a shock (it was a long, difficult battle), but just like Finn, she left the world too soon. 

And in the three years since, his father has aged ten. 

At least that’s how it seems to Kurt. 

He can still picture their wedding, how his dad had so gleefully shown off the dance steps he’d learned. In his mid-sixties now (how did  _that_  even happen?), Kurt’s dad has gotten noticeably slower, and not just physically.

They just don’t talk about it. Or they do, but only in code. Quite often, his dad’s days are bright and sunny. Sometimes, they’re stormy. On at least one occasion his father had phoned to say simply, “It’s a hurricane over here, Kurt,” which made no sense, because  _Ohio._ But when Kurt and Blaine arrived, they found such a mess—Carole’s belongings strewn about, his father in their bedroom shedding tears. As they held onto him, the three together seated on the bed, they truly were the eye of the storm. 

So Kurt can take Cloudy. On a day as monumental as today, Cloudy is good.

He busies himself about the house. He cleans, he prepares a few small meals to freeze. Eventually his father gets up from his chair and joins him at the kitchen window. Kurt looks at him, at this man who shaped so much of who he is now, and smiles. His dad’s gaze seems clearer now, the fogginess gone.

“Kids coming over this weekend?” asks his dad. “There’s a tree to put up, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Kurt says, letting out a breath. Like a life raft, he’d been holding onto it.


	4. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "dessert"

In the restaurant, Blaine scrapes his fork through the chunk of cheesecake still on his plate. As usual, he can’t finish it.

“Quit playing with that and hand it over,” says Kurt, reaching across the table. Blaine barely removes his fork fast enough for Kurt, who drags the plate over to his side. “The dessert doesn’t go home,” he says, stabbing his own fork into the cake. “The dessert  _never_  goes home.” 

Blaine laughs. “This was nice,” he says, cupping his chin with one hand, his elbow resting now on the table. “We should do this more often,” he says, pensively. Sometimes it feels like they’ve simply lost time—lost a whole decade, even. To careers and kids. Juggling all of that seemed much simpler, in theory. In reality, their lives have taken quite different paths from what they’d imagined when they were still McKinley kids. 

Kurt nods. “I know,” he says, taking a bite. “Don’t you think it’s going to get easier for us, though? In a couple of years?” 

Blaine reaches across the table to wipe a smudge of whipped cream from Kurt’s lip. Kurt leans in for it. “But then we’ll be sad,” Blaine says, licking his thumb. “A couple of years after that and we’ll be official empty nesters.”

“Ugh,” says Kurt, folding his napkin and placing it on the table. “I hate that phrase. Although,” he adds, “I’m definitely experiencing some 80’s sitcom nostalgia now, thanks to you.”

They stand and grab their coats, and as they head for the door Blaine asks, “Is it wrong that I know this?” before softly singing  _Empty Nest’s_  lyrics. He can’t quite remember the melody, so he wings it a bit—just as they have always done. 

> _Rain or shine, I’ll be the one, to share it all as life goes on._
> 
> _We share it all, as life goes on._

Kurt’s singing, too, by the time they get outside. “It’s horrible that we know anything about that show,” he says. 

“I guess,” says Blaine. “My parents watched it. I liked the dog. I have fond memories of that dog.”

He and Kurt exchange glances, then begin walking toward the car.

“He was a widower,” Kurt says. “I remember that much. He was a dad whose kids came back to him, because he was alone.” 

Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand and gives it a squeeze before reaching for the keys. “Well, we can only hope William and Audrey come back to  _us_  someday,” he says, smiling. 

“Are you kidding?” asks Kurt. “We’re going to change the locks as soon as they go.” 


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "evening"

It’s late in the evening on a Saturday, and Blaine’s already buried deep under the covers by the time Kurt enters the room. Blaine’s bone tired and not ready for Sunday’s errands—he’ll have lesson plans to prep for Monday, and there’ll be a full laundry room and empty fridge to deal with, too. 

He’s half asleep when he feels the rustling of the covers next to him as Kurt settles in.

There’s a  _lot_  of rustling.

“What are you doing?” mumbles Blaine, his face half pressed into the pillow.

“It’s  _freezing_  in here!” replies Kurt, who’s busy lifting his legs so he can arrange the blankets beneath his limbs. “I’m making my cocoon.” 

There’s no argument from Blaine regarding the temperatures, which have finally hit below zero for the first time this season. It’s funny, Blaine thinks, drifting off, how much of their lives go on without any real connection to things like seasons. They get their strawberries no matter what, even if they taste less-good for a while. But when the air dips the way it did today, so suddenly, it’s like …  _Armageddon_. Well, it is if Armageddon involves frantically searching the house for a lost mitten and matching scarf, or watching in horror as both kids try their old winter coats on, only to find that the sleeves are several inches shorter than they should be. As he lies there in bed, Blaine keeps remembering the look on Kurt’s face at the sight of William and Audrey.

Flabbergasted. That’s what it was. Blaine smiles.

“Wait,” says Kurt, finally, in the dark. “Why am I making a cocoon? I have  _you_.” 

“Come ‘ere,” says Blaine without actually moving at all, as he’s beginning to nod off again. 

There’s more rustling as Kurt nudges his body closer to Blaine’s, bringing welcome additional heat beneath the covers. “Better,” Kurt says, resting a hand on Blaine’s hip.

They lie there in the dark, ready to rest, but Blaine can already hear Kurt’s breathing start to change—not with sleep, but arousal. 

All it takes is a touch—a thumb, gently rubbing Blaine’s hip—and Blaine’s soon pushing Sunday from his mind. 

And sleep. 

And, well, Armageddon. 

Even Armageddon can wait.


	6. The In-between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "fall"

It was bound to happen, sooner or later, with the recent rainstorm that turned every walkway into a sheet of ice. 

Standing outside the hospital waiting room, Kurt wonders, when did their parents become children again? He checks his phone briefly, then texts his own kids:  _Gram Crackers_   _fell on the ice,_  he writes.  _Pop will be waiting for you at home after school._ He sees Blaine approaching from the corner of his eye, so he adds quickly,  _She’s fine—just a little unnerved,_ even though that last comment is more about Kurt than Blaine’s seventy-year-old mother.

Because she really isn’t okay, and Blaine’s face is awash with worry. 

“She broke her hip,” he says, before burrowing himself into Kurt’s open arms. Blaine adds, muffled, “She’s wondering where you were.”

“Tell her I was just texting the kids,” he says, one hand resting atop Blaine’s head. 

But really he’s just buying time. He’s not ready for this. 

Blaine lifts his head, and Kurt can tell he’s not ready either. It’s only been a couple of years since Blaine’s dad passed; his mother’s decline has been rapid. “She’s waiting for us,” Blaine says. Clearly sensing Kurt’s mood, he adds, “She’s of surprising good humor about the whole thing. I don’t know how.” Then he draws back from Kurt and squeezes his hand, before heading back down the hallway. 

Kurt glances out the window, where it’s raining again—or is it snowing? It’s neither one nor the other at the moment. It’s simply cold. That much, at least, Kurt knows, as he turns to follow his husband.

It’s something.


	7. Spidey Sense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "grace"

“ _Look_ , Kurt,” says Blaine. “There just isn’t any way to do this gracefully.”

“I refuse to give—” insists Kurt, before several coins fall from his pockets. They hit the theatre floor with a quick succession of jingles and plinks.

Kurt’s upside down, dangling a few feet above Blaine. Even though it’s just the two of them in the quiet space, Kurt can feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment as he tries to keep his body from spinning in the malfunctioning harness. 

Somehow this all seemed easier years ago.

Then again, years ago he’d never imagined he’d one day direct a revival of this God-awful  _Spiderman_  musical.

What was he thinking?

“You know,” says Blaine, who’s now walking a ladder across the stage. “I kind of like you like this.”

“Hmm,” is Kurt’s noncommittal response. Irked, he jabs back, “Did anyone ever tell you how tiny you look from this angle?”

Blaine’s quiet as he sets up the ladder. “You’re lucky you didn’t fall,” he says, climbing. “And I’m not sure about safely getting you down, like this. What’s the plan, exactly?” 

Kurt crosses his arms. “The plan is ruined!” he says, melodramatically. He  _is_ excited about this musical, about the prospect of doing it and making it actually  _work,_  in spite of its horrible history.

The truth is, he’s running out of musicals involving harnesses. 

 _This_  one’s starting to make him nervous, though. His quick showcase to Blaine this morning, of how he was envisioning some of the stunts—to be simplified, of course, for his community troupe—seemed a little foreboding, to say the least. 

It takes Kurt a moment to realize Blaine’s still waiting there on the ladder. “What?” asks Kurt, with a bit more acid than he means.

“Nothing,” says Blaine. “Just letting you think.” But Blaine’s gaze is soft and wanting, as he reaches out gently to grasp the back of Kurt’s head. 

“Jesus, be  _careful.”_ It’s so damn easy to forget where they  _are_. “Don’t fall!”

“We can’t  _not_  do this,” says Blaine, leaning in for the inverted kiss. He pulls away briefly to add, “Honestly, it’s the only reason to do the musical at all.” 

This time, Kurt reaches for Blaine, careful not to tug. How he’d love to flick his wrist and spin a safety net below them, a glimmering, tensile web. 

For now he tries to not get too lost in the moment, which in itself is quite the superhero feat.  


End file.
